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<title>Promises Promises by jencsi</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25735096">Promises Promises</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jencsi/pseuds/jencsi'>jencsi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Boys (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:49:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>679</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25735096</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jencsi/pseuds/jencsi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"You made me promises promises<br/>Knowing I'd believe<br/>Promises promises<br/>You knew you'd never keep"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>The Homelander | John/Madelyn Stillwell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Promises Promises</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChangingbacktoBellamort500/gifts">ChangingbacktoBellamort500</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was an accident, he swore it up and down, the honest to god truth. </p><p>“I know,” she mutters softly to him despite her pain, squinting as she feels a surge of pain throb from her skull. </p><p>“You should be checked out, you know, in case you have a concussion” he insists on taking her to a hospital but they both know that would be bad press. </p><p>“My cell phone,” she asks, clutching an ice pack she kept in her fridge in her office to her head with one hand and holding the other hand out for the phone. </p><p>He retrieves it from where it lay on the desk and hands it to her, should he dial? Who is she going to call? He wonders. She winces in pain as she sits on the sofa, scrolling through her contacts until she finds what she needs. The call is quick and efficient, something she’s made before he figures. The mystery contact's arrival to her office is almost immediate. She makes him answer the office door, hurrying them both back inside before someone sees. </p><p>He stands guard, pacing while this doctor checks her head. The bump is turning the color of a bruise and it is forming as they speak. She struggles to keep her head up, she wants to lay down and rest, nausea hitting her in waves. It wasn’t his fault, she assured him over and over. Accidents happen. They both were acting foolish. </p><p>The doctor gives her a small bottle of what he assumes to be painkillers he seems to keep on hand in his medical bag. She pops the lid off the bottle and takes one pill, dry, then slips the bottle into her shirt, his eyes flashing to her hand as it moves across her chest. She’s too distracted by her pain to notice him watching but no matter how ill or busy she may be, he always has a feeling she knows what his thoughts are. She waits for the doctor to leave before speaking to him directly once more. </p><p>	“You must keep this a secret,” she demands, laying back on the couch at last, stretching out across it and resting her aching head on the pillows. </p><p>	“Of course,” he promises her, settling into the less comfortable armchair across from her “can I get you anything?” </p><p>“A drink,” she jokes, knowing she shouldn’t be mixing drugs with alcohol. He doesn’t know whether to laugh along with her joke or remain quiet and serious. </p><p>She adjusts the ice pack, struggling to keep it on top of her head and find a comfortable position to rest in. Her glasses lay discarded on the coffee table along with the folders and files she had been combing through before all this happened. It was getting dark and he wondered if he should encourage her to rest at home. This place has so many cameras surrounding it, she likely wouldn’t want to be seen leaving with him, wobbly, drug addled, nursing a head injury. Staying here overnight was best. </p><p>“Everyone I’ve ever known has left me,” she declares when he doesn’t reply to her drug joke “but you won’t leave me, right?”</p><p>She pierces him with bright blue eyes that he swears act like lasers on him the way he uses his on other people, that’s her power. </p><p>“Promise me,” she begs now in a raspy voice as sleep is about to overtake her. </p><p>	He shifts in the chair, sitting forward to get a better look at her, sprawled out on this white couch, her perfect designer outfit blending in with the fancy cushions but her demeanor anything but business like. The sun is setting against the glass windows behind her, casting eerie shadows around the room, his looks the most unnatural hunched over in front of her this way. Nevertheless, she awaits for an answer. </p><p>“I promise,” he declares as her eyes close, waiting until the last minute, throat dry, this tenderness between them unlike their usual banter and political discourse. It’s a good thing she cannot read minds.</p>
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